


no rest for the weary

by weatheredlaw



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Confessions, F/M, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 05:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5772298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you are going to tell a story about me, Varric, at least do it right."</p>
            </blockquote>





	no rest for the weary

**Author's Note:**

> This sort of made me cry while I was writing it, if it makes you feel better.

He can _see her_ , clear as day. He can see her, and Varric finds the notion more than just a little unsettling.

Cassandra Pentaghast is supposed to be dead. He watched her die. He saw it happen. She comes to sit next to him by the fire, leaning forward and peering down at his letter.

“It was blood loss,” she corrects. “That is the thing that killed me. If you are going to tell a story about me, Varric, at least do it right.”

When he quizzes Cole about it, the boy only looks sadly past him, to where Cassandra is standing, and says, “She won’t leave. I’m not sure she wants to, but she should. She doesn’t belong here, and I don’t think she understands that.” Cole backs away, shaking his head. “Burning, searing pain. A need to speak, to say words that were not allowed, not before. Hunger, for what I don’t know, don’t understand, Maker take me, Maker take us all but I am _cold_ —”

He closes his eyes. Varric turns and faces her, realizes for the first time that her clothes are bloody, her face is pale, and there is red around her neck and on her hands.

“Seeker—”

“It was blood loss,” she says again. “That is the thing that killed me.”

_If you are going to tell a story about me –_

_Do it right._

 

* * *

 

“You can’t see her,” Varric realizes, while Solas stares. “Why can’t you _see_ her?”

“I feel her.”

“He _feels_ me,” Cassandra says dryly behind them. “How quaint.”

“Her spirit is heavy, it is not quite ready to depart.”

Cassandra frowns. She has become cleaner, but Varric isn’t sure it’s his imagination or his own doing. He’s still not entirely convinced Chuckles and the Kid are telling the truth – not because he can’t or doesn’t believe them, it’s only…

It’s only that this is too close to some bullshit Fade connection for him to be comfortable with. He wonders if this is what dreaming is like, if when everyone else closes their eyes, they see ghosts and blood. He wonders, and it discomforts him.

“Are you intent on ignoring me, then?” she asks as they walk away from Solas’s room. Varric doesn’t answer, because that is precisely what his plan has been, from the very start. “Varric—”

“Will you just… _go_ away? Why are you here? Why are you doing this to _me?_ It wasn’t enough, then, that you _died?_ Or that I watched? It wasn’t enough for you, huh?”

Cassandra smiles. “I am sorry,” she says. “Truly, I am.”

“You said that. You keep saying that. Prove it, and leave me alone.”

She frowns, now. “I cannot. There is nowhere for me to go. I cannot find it, the door is…there is supposed to be a _door_ ,” she insists. “But it is not there.” Then, happier, almost excited – “You can help me! You will know where it is, won’t you?”

“I—”

“That is why you can see me, I am sure of it. You see me, so you must know where the door is. Or how to open it. Oh, say you will help me, Varric. Please, say it!” She reaches to grasp his hands, and when she does her touch is like ice, makes him feel as if he’s dropped into a lake mid-winter. He jerks back, nearly tripping over his boots.

“No. That’s not why I can see you. That _isn’t_ why I can see you.”

“Then explain it,” she demands, and _oh_ , she is still so much like her old self, her living self. Even her foot stomps, indignant to the very end.

But he can’t. There is no answer to her question, and Varric finds that he is lost for an excuse not to aid her.

And so: “Alright.” A concession, he thinks. That’s all it is. “I’ll help you. I promise.”

 

* * *

 

She is there when he wakes every morning. Again, he wonders –

Is this what dreaming is?”

Trevelyan tells him no. She is kind when she says it, and she believes that the Seeker is standing behind him, watching her expectantly.

“Will you…will you tell her something for me?” Cassandra asks carefully. Varric nods. “Will you tell her…that I was proud to be hers. To serve with her. To be…to be her knight. Tell her that I was proud to be a part of _her_ Inquisition.”

Varric tells her.

He knows she waits until he has turned the corner to cry. He knows this, because it is the first time he has heard it, even though he knows she has had great reason for it before.

“Perhaps you could do this for me,” Cassandra says. “Perhaps there are things I must say to our friends, before I can go.”

“Makes sense,” Varric says humorlessly. He’s exhausted. Her presence is a constant pull on his mind. He hasn’t written in days. “Where would you like to start?”

She chews her lip, then looks to Skyhold. “Cullen,” she says. “There is something I must say to Cullen.”

 

* * *

 

“She says that…that you can do this. That you are stronger than you think, and you won’t need her, even if you think you do.”

Cullen stares from behind his desk, watching Varric very carefully. His mouth works a few times before he clears his throat and says quietly, “I…heard. That you could see her.”

“It’s been a lot of fun.”

“This is not a joke,” Cullen snaps.

“I’m _aware._ ”

The Commander scrubs a hand over his face – it trembles. “Please…please tell her that I am…forever grateful, and indebted to her memory, for what she has done for me.”

“She can hear you,” Varric says gently.

Cullen looks up. “Where is she, then? Where is she standing?”

Varric swallows. “Right…right next to you. She wants to touch you, but I don’t think—” Cullen shudders when Cassandra’s hand reaches for him, brushes his forehead. “There,” he murmurs. “She’s…she’s right there.”

Cullen closes his eyes. He closes his eyes, and he breathes. “I…thank you,” he says. “For all that you have done. For all you wanted to do. I will not forget you, and it will not go to waste.”

Cassandra nods.

“She hears you.”

“Tell him I am proud to have known him, for however long. Tell him I never doubted him. Tell him there is hope, and we will succeed.”

Varric does. Cassandra looks away.

“I didn’t…” Varric swallows, trying to say what’s on his mind. “I didn’t know that you…that the two of you—”

Cullen’s head snaps up, mouth twisted into a scowl. “We were not,” he says. “She was…she was helping me with something else. Something important.”

“His lyrium addiction,” she murmurs.

“Shit,” Varric breathes. “ _Shit_ , Curly.”

“I will be fine,” Cullen says. “She…helped me get very far. I will not tarnish her memory and fail her now.”

 

* * *

 

She has him tell Dorian that she has several of his books in her room, and she would like him to have the rest of hers as well.

“All of them?” Dorian asks, glancing around the room above the forge. There are…a great many. They hadn’t realized she’d taken so many from the library, or bought so many on their travels to Orlais and Redcliffe.

“I brought them with me,” she says, almost proudly. “I love books, I told you this. Please, tell him that they are his.”

“All of them,” Varric says.

“Maker’s breath, Cassandra.”

“Will you tell him that I believe in him, and that I am sorry I did not say this before I left? And tell him…tell him that he is a great man, and a good friend, and I think my life after this will be…duller, in comparison. Tell him, if you can, Varric. Please.”

 

* * *

 

It takes days. Varric can’t do it all at once, it’s exhausting. He feels his own sadness as well as hers, and watching Josephine _weep_ into her skirts was not what he’d had planned for the day.

Because she does. She sobs, great, _heaving_ things that rack her body and make her so small in Varric’s hands.

“It is not the end,” she insists. “We were not finished yet. _We were not done yet,_ ” she whispers, and crumples a piece of paper in her hand. “A letter,” she says, calmer now. “To her uncle. Would she like it to be sent? Leliana was not…she couldn’t be sure.”

Cassandra nods. “Yes,” Varric says. “She wants you to write to him.”

“Of course,” the ambassador murmurs. She composes herself. “We have not held our memorial service yet either,” she says.

“I do not want one.”

“I suspect she will not _want_ one,” Jospehine mutters. “But if she is saying her goodbyes, then I suppose it is…it is her choice.” Then: “Leliana has the ashes. You should ask what she wants done with them.”

 

* * *

 

It takes time, to get to Leliana. Sera and Cole are next, but Cole already knows what she wants to say, and Sera stays tough, even though she says she could use a good cry.

“Maybe…maybe _later_ ,” she mutters, folding her arms around her knees. “She was good to me, didn’t even have to be, but…she was good to me.”

“She is very special,” Cassandra says fondly. “Kinder than she would like to admit. Nobler than I deserved.”

“She cared for you,” Varric says. “And she was proud.”

“A good choice,” Cassandra murmurs, and puts a hand over Varric’s. He doesn’t pull away.

 

* * *

 

Blackwall, Bull, and Solas are out with the Inquisitor when Varric goes looking for them, so they have no other choice than to go to Leliana.

Cassandra is apprehensive. “She…has not left the tower.”

“The crows have,” Varric says, looking up. “The crows are always leaving.”

“Because she is always working.” They ascend the stairs, and Varric stands in the darkened doorway, watching Nightingale do her work. “To the very end,” Cassandra murmurs and steps forward.

Leliana looks up. “So. You made it here.”

“She…wanted to take her time.”

“I understand. She’s here, then?” Varric gestures to where Cassandra is standing. Leliana rises, and steps in front of her. “Mother Giselle did not get a chance to tell you, but we are candidates for Divine. The clerics sent a letter to me this morning, expressing their condolences. They said you would be a great loss.”

“Tell her to pursue it.”

“She thinks you should…you should accept.”

“I’m sure she does,” Leliana says. “I will be following the leads she gathered from the expedition to Caer Oswin, as well.” She goes to a shelf and pulls down a simple urn.

“Her…her ashes,” Varric says.

“Yes. I want to know what she would like done with them.”

Cassandra trembles. Takes a step back.

“Where she died,” she breathes. “Where she was last. Justinia.”

“The Temple,” Varric murmurs.

Leliana smiles. “Of course. Of course, we will do this. I will ask Cullen to plan it, and the Inquisitor will do it herself.” She turns to go back to her work.

“ _Wait._ ” Cassandra reaches out. Varric looks at her. “Please…tell her that…that my left hand is…it is very cold, now, without her. And that I wonder if her own feels the same.”

Leliana listens as Varric repeats, and looks to where Cassandra is standing.

“Yes,” she says. “My hand will never grasp another such as hers again.”

 

* * *

 

“Have I exhausted you?” Cassandra murmurs. Varric shrugs. “I have something to say to everyone,” she says. “But I cannot seem to think of what to say to you.”

“We weren’t close,” Varric says, but it doesn’t _feel_ true.

“Fool,” she mutters. “I did not finish the book. Read it to me.”

“I’m _tired_ , Seeker.”

“ _Read it to me_ ,” she insists, and settles into a chair. “Please,” she adds. “I was…almost done.”

Varric sighs, nodding and going to his desk to grab the manuscript. “Where were you?”

“After she had escaped,” she says, smiling. “Do not skim,” she adds. “I will know.”

Varric laughs, for the first time in days. “Alright, alright. No skimming, Seeker. Chantry scout’s honor.”

 

* * *

 

He’s woken late at night by a barrage of knocking. Cassandra appears, grumbling and griping as Varric maneuvers to the door. He opens it, and Bull walks in.

“Uh, yeah, make yourself comfortable.”

“Where is she?” he demands, looking around. “I know she’s here, I know you’ve been—”

“She’s here,” Varric says, and shows him. “She probably—”

“I’ve got something to say to her,” Bull says. “Are you listening, Seeker?”

“She is.”

“Good.” Bull points. “You told me something, the night before you died. You told me something, and you swore you would say it, when you had the chance. And you lost it. And now you’ve got it again. I don’t know if it’s gonna help, or hurt, but I know that you won’t be able to go until you say it.”

“You do?” Varric asks.

Bull looks sheepish. “It’s…a theory.”

“A theory,” Cassandra murmurs. “But…but what did I tell him?”

“She doesn’t remember,” Varric explains.

Bull scowls. “Paper, and ink,” he says. “And you…you turn your back, Tethras.”

Varric raises a brow. “Alright.” Bull moves to the fire and scribbles something on a piece of paper. “See?” he says. “Varric, can she—”

“I see,” Cassandra says, voice trembling. “But I…I cannot. I cannot say it, it will not help.”

“It was what you _wanted_ to say, before. You told me, and you were going to say it, and now is your last chance.”

“The door,” she murmurs.

Varric frowns. “The door.”

Bull tosses the scrap into the fire and turns to go. “You know what to do, Cassandra.”

“I don’t want to.”

“She—”

“I know. It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, too. But it…it needs to be done. She can’t stay here forever.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we keep going. There’s more to say, I bet. Just a thought.” Bull nods and goes shutting the door behind him.

Varric turns to her. “Cassandra—”

“Varric.” She smiles. “Sit.”

“Um.”

“There is something that I must tell you, same as I told the others.”

“I heard what you told the others. _I told them._ ”

“Please,” she insists. “Please listen, and do not be angry.”

“Alright.” He sits, and she kneels before him.

“I was going to tell you something, before I died. Something important. And I was going to tell you _while_ I was dying, and it was even more important then.”

“There was a lot of blood,” Varric murmurs.

“So much of it,” she agrees. “But I was glad…that it was you. That you and the stars were the last things that I could see. I was happy, for a moment. I thought that I would go to the Maker’s side, and your eyes would be the last to have me. And then…I was here. And I could not find the door.” Varric nods. He feels sick. “Varric. I love you,” she says. “Since before you gave me the book, perhaps. I…cannot be sure. I only knew that…that I did, that morning. And I held it close and Bull could see, and he pried it from me. It was a pearl, in my hands and my heart, Varric, and he saw it and he was happy for me.”

“And then you died.”

“And then I died.”

“But this…”

“ _Oh._ ” She looks at him. “Oh, this was it. It was the thing, Varric, it was precisely the thing—”

“What are you talking about, what do you mean?”

“The door,” she says, standing. “Varric, _the door_ —”

“No! No, you don’t get to do this to me, and then just—”

“I cannot stay.”

“But you _love_ me. What am I supposed to do with this?”

“I don’t _know_ , but it was the thing, those were the words—”

“Then _damn_ those words!” he shouts. “Those words are _shit_ to me! Those words don’t _mean anything_ to me, because you’re going. Because you’re _dead_ , Cassandra!”

She holds herself, and the wounds are fresh now. “Oh, Varric. Varric, do not let that be the last time I hear you say my name.”

“It will be,” he snarls. “Because I have done _everything_ to help you, and _this_ was what you needed? To tell me you love me, after weeks and months of…of—” He closes his eyes. “I’m glad you’re going.”

“Varric—”

“Do it,” he says. “Open the damn door, and _go_ , Cassandra. _Go._ ”

“I am sorry,” she says, sobbing. “I am sorry, it was not what I wanted, I swear it. Please, _believe_ me, Varric. Trust me, please, just this once—”

“I always _trusted_ you,” he says, helpless now. “I always did.”

“Then tell me that you loved me.”

“I…”

“Just this once. Just…just so that I might hear it, before I am gone.”

“Cassandra—”

“I cannot _stay_.”

He grasps at her. “Wait! I don’t…I can’t—”

She is fading. She is falling away from him, and he is losing her.

“Stay,” he says –

And then she is gone.

 

* * *

 

Solas tells him that he cannot sense her anymore. “She has gone from this world.”

“She wasn’t…a spirit.”

“Nor a demon. She was herself, attempting to solve a mystery of her own. You should thank the Iron Bull for completing the puzzle. I suspect it was not pleasant to hear,” he adds.

“I don’t remember it well,” Varric lies, and turns to go.

“Varric.” Solas puts a hand on his shoulder. “It will be good if you remember her for who she was, before this.”

“Thanks, Chuckles. But I’m sort of old hat at this grieving shit.”

“Well.” Solas shrugs. “It is all I can give you, for now.”

Varric nods and steps outside, into the sun.

 

* * *

 

He wonders, not for the first time, if this is what it’s like to dream.


End file.
